


Deliverance

by caketoss



Category: StarCraft
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caketoss/pseuds/caketoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his mind infiltrated by Amon’s influence, Vortanul seeks out his Hierarch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliverance

**Author's Note:**

> Baby ficlet written after being wrested from sleep by this plot at 4am.

Alone. And yet so… the sweetness, the salvation and peace, _so close_ …

Vortanul staggered down the impossibly long corridor that led to the bridge of the arkship. Clutching his head as he stumbled forward, Vortanul fought with every mental faculty he had so meticulously nurtured throughout his life against the invader in his head. Snapping, sparking zaps of bright red psionic energy tingled and teased his nerve cords; temptation lapping tantalizingly at the edges of his mind. The emotions he knew to be tainted, knew were infecting the Khala like a virus, all leading back to… _Amon_. The name in his mind caused a wrenching feeling in his gut, horror that flirted with… relief? The simple knowing that all he had to do was surrender… _No!_

A sob wracked his body as he finally reached the bridge, and he called out to his Hierarch. Amon’s sick, suffocating allure was closing in around him, his eyes taking on a red hue as the energy began pouring into him now as if a dam had burst at the back of his head. He couldn’t hold out any longer, and in a last act of defiance, Vortanul ripped off the gauntlet containing his psi-blade and hurled it away before throwing himself hard to the floor. 

Artanis instantly recognized the imperiled zealot crying his name on the bridge. Now in a shaking heap on the ground, the sight of his friend and brother in arms lying overcome by the whim of Amon incited a terrible rage in the Hierarch, who had broken into a sprint to reach the place he’d fallen. Artanis didn’t hesitate; he knew he couldn’t afford to. Deploying his psi-blade and grasping Vortanul roughly by his cords, the Hierarch ended Vortanul’s struggle with a single sweep of his deadly blade. 

Vortanul’s vision was overcome by a darkness as he fell back to the floor, his freed nerve cords still held in his Hierarch’s hand. His whole body was consumed by pain, searing and alive, sweeping down his spine from the back of his skull. And… _silence._ A creeping horror spiked through him; there was nothing but silence now, it was… _everything_ was gone. His eyes, returned at once to their usual brilliant blue, streamed tendrils of psionic energy as Vortanul realized _he could not feel his Hierarch._

“Ar… tanis…” Vortanul whispered, numb as he hurtled through the vacuum that was life without the Khala. Artanis let the severed cords drop to the floor. The sound of Vortanul’s voice, lost like a youngling, gripped at Artanis’s hearts as the gravity of his undoubtedly necessary action washed over him. Everything they had shared, their emotions intertwined passionately again and again within the Khala… now existed only as abstract recollections. 

The Hierarch dropped to his knees next to Vortanul, who was still stunned into motionlessness by the salvation and tragedy brought upon him by Artanis’s blade. Wordlessly, Artanis pulled the zealot close, wrapping his curled form tightly against his chest. The cool press of the Hierarch’s armor against his crest helped Vortanul calm and center his thoughts. 

“Artanis… how…” Vortanul felt truly and completely lost. The Khala had served as a vital tool to him for so long, and although it had always been a source of mistrust and suspicion, he never desired a life without it. He felt somewhat less alone in knowing that Artanis had also fallen to this fate at the hands of Amon, but saddened by the knowledge that the Hierarch’s freedom from Amon’s control had come at a price so much higher than his own. But Artanis’s answer to Vortanul was as simple as his question, which the Hierarch pressed gently into the zealot’s mind: _We fight_. 

At last the Hierarch stood and helped Vortanul to his feet. Vortanul swayed forward as he stood, barely catching himself in time - a protoss’s nerve cords provided a counterbalance in their stance, and their physical absence caught him off guard. Then, looking to his Hierarch, Vortanul bowed his head. 

“Thank you, friend, for freeing me from his grasp. I will await your command.” It was almost effortless now to conceal his emotions. He barely had to try to hide the riot of anger and frustration, gratitude and profound, penetrating sadness that he knew would soon overwhelm him completely. Meditation would be a challenge without the Khala, but Vortanul knew it was where he must now turn. And with a final salute to his commander, Vortanul pivoted on his heel and was gone. 

ith his mind infiltrated by Amon’s influence, Vortanul seeks out his Hierarch.  
Notes: Baby ficlet written after being wrested from sleep by this plot at 4am.

~ 

Alone. And yet so… the sweetness, the salvation and peace, _so close_ … 

Vortanul staggered down the impossibly long corridor that led to the bridge of the arkship. Clutching his head as he stumbled forward, Vortanul fought with every mental faculty he had so meticulously nurtured throughout his life against the invader in his head.[[MORE]] Snapping, sparking zaps of bright red psionic energy tingled and teased his nerve cords; temptation lapping tantalizingly at the edges of his mind. The emotions he knew to be tainted, knew were infecting the Khala like a virus, all leading back to… _Amon_. The name in his mind caused a wrenching feeling in his gut, horror that flirted with… relief? The simple knowing that all he had to do was surrender… _No!_

A sob wracked his body as he finally reached the bridge, and he called out to his Hierarch. Amon’s sick, suffocating allure was closing in around him, his eyes taking on a red hue as the energy began pouring into him now as if a dam had burst at the back of his head. He couldn’t hold out any longer, and in a last act of defiance, Vortanul ripped off the gauntlet containing his psi-blade and hurled it away before throwing himself hard to the floor. 

Artanis instantly recognized the imperiled zealot crying his name on the bridge. Now in a shaking heap on the ground, the sight of his friend and brother in arms lying overcome by the whim of Amon incited a terrible rage in the Hierarch, who had broken into a sprint to reach the place he’d fallen. Artanis didn’t hesitate; he knew he couldn’t afford to. Deploying his psi-blade and grasping Vortanul roughly by his cords, the Hierarch ended Vortanul’s struggle with a single sweep of his deadly blade. 

Vortanul’s vision was overcome by a darkness as he fell back to the floor, his freed nerve cords still held in his Hierarch’s hand. His whole body was consumed by pain, searing and alive, sweeping down his spine from the back of his skull. And… _silence._ A creeping horror spiked through him; there was nothing but silence now, it was… _everything_ was gone. His eyes, returned at once to their usual brilliant blue, streamed tendrils of psionic energy as Vortanul realized _he could not feel his Hierarch._

“Ar… tanis…” Vortanul whispered, numb as he hurtled through the vacuum that was life without the Khala. Artanis let the severed cords drop to the floor. The sound of Vortanul’s voice, lost like a youngling, gripped at Artanis’s hearts as the gravity of his undoubtedly necessary action washed over him. Everything they had shared, their emotions intertwined passionately again and again within the Khala… now existed only as abstract recollections. 

The Hierarch dropped to his knees next to Vortanul, who was still stunned into motionlessness by the salvation and tragedy brought upon him by Artanis’s blade. Wordlessly, Artanis pulled the zealot close, wrapping his curled form tightly against his chest. The cool press of the Hierarch’s armor against his crest helped Vortanul calm and center his thoughts. 

“Artanis… how…” Vortanul felt truly and completely lost. The Khala had served as a vital tool to him for so long, and although it had always been a source of mistrust and suspicion, he never desired a life without it. He felt somewhat less alone in knowing that Artanis had also fallen to this fate at the hands of Amon, but saddened by the knowledge that the Hierarch’s freedom from Amon’s control had come at a price so much higher than his own. But Artanis’s answer to Vortanul was as simple as his question, which the Hierarch pressed gently into the zealot’s mind: _We fight_. 

At last the Hierarch stood and helped Vortanul to his feet. Vortanul swayed forward as he stood, barely catching himself in time - a protoss’s nerve cords provided a counterbalance in their stance, and their physical absence caught him off guard. Then, looking to his Hierarch, Vortanul bowed his head. 

“Thank you, friend, for freeing me from his grasp. I will await your command.” It was almost effortless now to conceal his emotions. He barely had to try to hide the riot of anger and frustration, gratitude and profound, penetrating sadness that he knew would soon overwhelm him completely. Meditation would be a challenge without the Khala, but Vortanul knew it was where he must now turn. And with a final salute to his commander, Vortanul pivoted on his heel and was gone. 


End file.
